


5:50pm

by litteringfire (heartrapier)



Category: Kamen Rider Ghost
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartrapier/pseuds/litteringfire
Summary: Every part of Takeru hurts Makoto with his warmth, honest to a fault.Daitenkuu-ji's stairway, and the setting sun.





	5:50pm

**Author's Note:**

> should be set a few eps after deep specter's debut

Combing his fingers along Takeru’s hair, Makoto lets out a sigh in tandem with the heartbeats echoing against the side of his thigh. Takeru looks at peace, bent over to press his head in Makoto’s lap, one leg dangling off the step to accommodate for the position.

“You’re going to slip and fall.” Makoto says. It’s a whisper, spoken gently close to one of Takeru’s earlobes. His fingers give emphasis to the words, nails tapped lightly on Takeru’s nape.

The younger man lets out a purr at the action, rubbing his head like a cat on Makoto’s thighs. One of his eyes peeks out between his long bangs, whose colour contrasts with the orange and purple glow of the sunset across their horizon. Takeru looks upwards at him with an unreadable gaze, but Makoto is already aware, after months of re-acquaintance, relearning, that each part of Takeru is nothing if not sincere.

“You won’t let that happen.” Takeru says. He sounds smug, but there is a hint of resignation in the way he draws breath afterward as well. His eyes refuse to leave Makoto’s line of sight, and Makoto knows it for what it is: a plea.

For someone who somehow managed to read his best friend’s memory, even one which involves a selfless declaration of sacrifice, Takeru keeps his fear brewing gently underneath. It is less explosive than the burst of distrust he had back for the ganma, but its steam still slips into where his fingers are entangled with Makoto’s, anyway.

“I won’t.” Makoto replies firmly. For a moment, Takeru’s grip tightens, but immediately relaxes.

Takeru grins when he whispers, “Me too.” He’s looked away, instead pressing his eyelids on the leather of Makoto’s pants.

“Yeah?” Makoto tests, sliding one hand onto Takeru’s shoulder and squeezes it.

In response, Takeru rolls back on his side and lightly punches on Makoto’s forearm. “Yeah.”

Makoto can’t see his smile, but he can feel Takeru’s lips quirk on his kneecap, and it’s as much a reassurance.

Relaxing back on the stairway, his spine against the rough stone step, Makoto sighs. His fingers continue moving to brush through Takeru’s messy hair, pinky constantly scratching the short shaved edge above the nape.

The sun feels slow in its descent, enveloping the sky in a darkening gradient. It’s a beautiful image, especially considering the city laid out in the horizon, seemingly ready to swallow the setting sun. Even the reddish hue of the sky cannot compare to the unsettling shadow of the Ganma world. Makoto swallows, the very act unrecognized even by his own mind, as he remembers feeling the constant presence of Hell crashing him underneath. He’d grown to take it as a part of himself, to adapt to it, all for the sake of survival. But at the sight of the sunset presented to him so easily in the human world, Makoto wonders why he would settle for anything less stunning.

“Makoto- _niichan_?” Takeru asks, glancing up at him. “What are you thinking?”

One of his free hands swings by to rest on Makoto’s—its purpose irrelevant, but very obviously a call for attention. Makoto, in that very second, thinks it redundant; Takeru is always at the back of his mind, relentlessly filling the hole of their ten lost years.

“Nothing.” Makoto replies, a smile creeping on his face. “Just thinking.”

Takeru laughs like a bird—free, neither too silent nor too loud, and it makes Makoto want to capture the sound and replay it in his dream. Every part of Takeru hurts Makoto with his warmth, honest to a fault.

“I know that! About what?” the younger man says this in the pause between his laughter. He is restless sometimes, but Makoto cherishes every other moment in which Takeru lets himself relax, eyes closed.

Makoto finds that his own heart wishes to seek that same peace. Makoto hopes that it’s the same sort of serene calm that washes over him right now—he and Takeru seated on the stone stairway of the temple’s area, watching over a setting sun, with the early summer breeze on their cheek. It’s the peace found in the non-distance of their bodies, pressed in muffled intimacy.

“Forgot already.” Makoto says, humming unabashedly even as Takeru loudly frowns in response. “It wasn’t anything important.”

As Takeru squints his eyes at him, curiosity apparent, Makoto holds back his wants. He so desperately wishes to tell Takeru everything, to bare himself free, but he remembers the intangibility, the fragility, of his friend’s current existence.

“You.” Makoto says, the word dripping out before he can stop it. “About you.”

He’s expecting Takeru to be disbelieving, to be flustered, but the smile Takeru gives him in response is fond, edging close enough to exasperation.

“You don’t have to worry, Makoto- _niichan_.”  Takeru whispers, the feeling of his lips moving on Makoto’s thigh somehow flaring hot. “I won’t fall.”

This time, when Makoto smiles back, he hopes it comes across as kind. “You won’t.”


End file.
